


Faire Pipi

by Musyc



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Regency, Community: daily_deviant, Costumes, Cunnilingus, F/F, Femslash, Hermione Granger - character, Inspired by Art, Master/Servant, Outdoor Sex, Pansy Parkinson - Character, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-01
Updated: 2011-12-01
Packaged: 2017-10-26 18:36:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/286588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Musyc/pseuds/Musyc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A lady's maid is responsible for everything her lady needs, whether <i>toilette</i> or toilet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Faire Pipi

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this lovely art](http://asylums.insanejournal.com/daily_deviant/6414.html) by Twilightsorcery.

"Well, that was worthless." Pansy stormed across the wide expanse of the rear garden, ignoring the remnants of a mid-day rain that her long hems swept off the grass. The kid leather of her half-boots quickly soaked up moisture when she stopped, both hands on her hips, to stare at the tall yew hedges that formed a walking gallery. Pansy ignored the cold in her toes in favor of the irritated heat prickling her skin. Most of the hedges had been trimmed properly but Pansy glared, two spots of pink rising along her cheekbones, at the ones remaining. Hiring that cheeky Longbottom to take care of her gardens had been absolutely pointless, she decided. The man had taken hours to do even this much, then claimed a prior engagement and scuttled off. She should have hired some mousy little Hufflepuff. A quarter the price and double the hard work. Then she wouldn't have an unfinished garden and the lords and ladies coming to her ball that evening wouldn't talk rubbish behind their gloves and fans.

"If you want something done right, do it yourself," she grumbled. She clutched her skirts and stalked into the alcove formed by the untrimmed yews. With a snap of her wrist, she drew her wand from the handle of her riding crop and pointed it at one of the offending yews. She muttered a severing charm and flicked her wrist. A bit of greenery dropped to the ground, landing against the toe of her boot.

Pansy made a face and kicked it away. "Bloody thing," she muttered.

"Such language from a lady," a voice replied.

Pansy looked down at the piece of hedge, momentarily flummoxed that it might have spoken to her. She shook her head at herself and turned to glance over her shoulder. "Ah, it's you, Hermione. Watch your tongue. It is not your place." She tapped her wand against her arm and shoved it back into her riding crop with a snap. "Have you pressed my gown for this evening?"

Hermione, her lady's maid, nodded. "The pomona green, yes." She stood straight with her hands folded at her waist, shoulders back and chin high. Pansy had learned to tolerate Hermione's rather impertinent manner most days, as that was what she got for taking on an English maid after she lost that delightful French girl. Damn these chits for running off and getting married. She hoped William was absolute horrid to Fleur, to teach her a lesson.

She gestured at the hedges with her mouth pursed in a moue of distaste. "Your recommendation for that Longbottom fellow was poorly done. Look at the tragedy he's left me. The Greengrasses will be in complete fits of amusement."

"My apologies, my lady," Hermione said. Pansy narrowed her eyes at the distinctly unapologetic tone and the sparkle of laughter in Hermione's brown eyes.

She arched her brows and looked at the hedges again. Perhaps more than one of her maids needed taught a lesson. With a sharp huff, she plopped onto a stone bench tucked in the alcove and gestured at the hedges. "Finish this," she said, tapping the crop against her skirts.

Hermione looked at her, eyes wide with surprise. "What?"

Pansy crossed her ankles and adjusted her skirts over her thighs. "You are the one responsible for suggesting that worthless fool, therefore you are the one responsible for the work remaining undone. Clearly, that means you are you are the one who should finish it off." She flicked one hand at the hedges. "Get to it."

Hermione stared at her, arms folded over her stomach. "I'm not a gardener."

"And I'm not a hippogriff. I hardly see how that matters. Get to work or you'll have any time at all to finish preparing me for this evening." Pansy smiled brightly as an idea came to her, and she uncrossed her ankles, spreading her legs slightly as she toyed with the fichu at the neckline of her riding gown. "Unless you would like to provide some other form of reparation for this terrible mistake?"

The corners of Hermione's mouth twitched as she fought a smile. "You are the lady of the manor," she said with a pretense at a downcast look. "I shall accept whatever punishment you deem necessary."

Pansy hid her anticipation behind a stern look. They played this game from time to time, but it had been a while. Too long, perhaps. Pansy could feel her heart racing already. She grabbed a fistful of the skirts of her riding habit and exhaled sharply.

Hermione tilted her head and Pansy tugged the hem of her skirts up to display one pale calf. "Tsk, my lady. Out without your stockings?" Hermione asked, taking a step closer.

"You know I never wear them when I go riding." Pansy pulled the green skirt higher, bunching it over her thigh to expose her knee. She put her hands on the rear of the bench and leaned back.

Hermione took another step, her hips swaying beneath the pale blue skirts of her work gown. "You never wear them at all. You haven't a single pair in your entire wardrobe. I would know." She lowered gracefully to her knees and tapped Pansy's boot with one finger. "These will be ruined," she said. "All the rain and damp."

Hermione slid one hand up Pansy's leg, fingers curled around her calf and tickling into the hollow behind her knee. "This dress, as well," Hermione said as she flicked at the hem. "Terribly wet, it is."

Pansy spread her legs wider, putting one on either side of Hermione's shoulders. "You don't say," she murmured as she tapped her crop against the stone bench. "Is that all that's wet?"

Hermione looked up at her, eyes sparkling. "So far. If I explore a bit, I might find something else."

"Oh, by all means." Pansy licked her lips. "Explore."

Hermione pushed the hem of Pansy's skirts up above both knees and leaned in. Pansy held her breath as Hermione's lips touched her, traveling up calves, knees, thighs. Little, soft, fluttery kisses, almost like a breeze flowing across her skin.

Pansy let her knees fall wide as Hermione's warm breath stirred the curls at the apex of her thighs. She could feel the tiny muscles deep inside her tensing in anticipation. Hermione looked up at her with a soft smile, deliberately hesitating. Pansy growled deep in her throat and pushed at Hermione's head, her fingers twisting in the crisp white cap Hermione wore as an indicator of her rank. "No teasing," Pansy demanded. "Get to work."

Hermione laughed and her fingers fluttered in the hollows of Pansy's knees. "Yes, my lady," she said, her voice full of light and humor. She pushed Pansy's skirts all the way up her thighs and stuck out her tongue to push it between the plump folds of Pansy's cunt. She licked up, licked down, delved into the narrow passage, circled around the swelling nub. Her thumbs pressed against Pansy's flesh, holding it open to give her more room.

Pansy sucked her lips between her teeth and squeezed them tight in efforts to stifle the groan that was trying desperately to escape. She ripped the fichu from her gown and tugged her chemise below her breasts, her nipples tightening with the friction. She pinched them and rolled them between her fingers. Hermione's tongue didn't falter as Pansy rocked on the bench.

Pansy closed her eyes as her head fell back. She clutched at her skirts, the bench, Hermione's cap, her hands fluttering wild as her body responded to Hermione's ministrations. Her heart raced and she felt a heavy weight settling in her abdomen. The muscles of her cunt pulsed, gripping at emptiness, and she hissed in soft frustration.

Hermione understood her without any words spoken, and reached two fingers deep into her. Pansy whined as Hermione pressed on the upper wall of her cunt, fingertips grinding into that soft, spongy area that made sparks flicker behind her closed eyelids. The pressure made her hips rock and buck against Hermione's hand.

Hermione flattened her tongue and swiped it over Pansy's clit. Pansy yelped, the sensations inside her changing, and she groped for Hermione's shoulder to push her back. "Dammit," Pansy muttered, clenching her internal muscles hard. "Hold up, stop a minute. I need--" She opened her eyes and looked around with a discomfited expression. "Need a bloody chamber pot."

Hermione went still, then slowly raised her head to meet Pansy's eyes. Her lips and chin were shining with Pansy's wetness, and she licked away several drops. She took a deep breath, as if steeling herself. "If you need to pass water," she said quietly, "go ahead. Please, go right ahead."

Pansy knotted her brows and looked down. Hermione's eyes were wide, her mouth half-open. She looked expectant, hopeful. Pansy wriggled on the bench, the pressure inside her growing. The idea was different and unusual. Somewhat naughty. _Definitely_ intimate. Even in the retiring rooms at balls and parties, or in the privacy of her own chambers, she'd always gone behind a screen to take care of this. To let go and let someone watch was ... exciting.

She scraped her teeth across her bottom lip and pushed Hermione's shoulders. "Move back," she said.

Hermione's expression fell and she shuffled backward on her knees, folding her hands in her lap. Pansy stood and clucked her tongue as she tugged her skirts up. "I didn't say 'no', silly girl," she chided. She bent her knees to crouch, the bench against her back. Face to face with Hermione, she smiled. "Are you going to help me with my skirts or not?"

Hermione raised her eyes without lifting her head, then her lips curled in a slow, shy smile. She slid her palms along the outside of Pansy's thighs, gathering the heavy skirts on her arms. She held them out of the grass and dirt, one hand resting against the round curves of Pansy's arse, one pressed to the soft flesh of Pansy's inner thigh. With a quiet sound, she darted forward and licked circles around Pansy's nipples before fastening on one to give it a hard suck.

Pansy groaned and balanced her hands on Hermione's shoulders. She closed her eyes and exhaled, allowing the bench to support her as she consciously relaxed her muscles. It took a moment, but soon she felt the twitching, tingling sensation. She whimpered quietly, her cheeks heating as she realized she was doing this, this was going to happen, any moment now. Any second. Her body loosened, and she started to piss.

Hermione made a strangled noise and her hand left Pansy's thigh. Pansy looked down to watch Hermione as she shoved her hand into the thin stream, the pale golden liquid puddling and running over her fingers. Hermione's eyes were dark, her chest heaving as she panted. She cupped her hand to catch the final few drops as a small pool in her palm. She closed her fingers as gently as if she were holding clouds, then turned her hand over and let the last of it dribble into the dirt.

Neither of them moved for several heartbeats, then Pansy reached out and curled her fingers under Hermione's chin. Hermione lifted her head from the gentle pressure, and Pansy brushed her thumb across Hermione's cheek. "Is that all?" she asked, her body throbbing just from the look of satisfaction in Hermione's eyes.

Hermione slowly drew air through her nose before shaking her head. "No, my lady," she whispered. She pushed Pansy up to sit on the very edge of the bench. Pansy caught her breath at the feel of the cold stone on her bare arse, then watched with wide, astonished eyes as Hermione rucked up her own skirts to kneel astride the dampened grass. Hermione licked her lips and gently prised Pansy's folds apart. She glanced up with that shy smile again, then leaned close and ran her tongue over Pansy's clit.

Pansy groaned aloud as Hermione's tongue traveled over her flesh, licking up every drop of heated, musky wetness. The sharp tang of her urine mingled with the warm musk of arousal and filled her nose. Pansy gasped for breath, her bared nipples as solid as the bench under her, and she canted her hips to grind against Hermione's tongue. When she came, it was with a cry that made the surrounding hedges quiver, and she slumped on the bench, one hand over her heart, one tangled in Hermione's dark curls.

Hermione plucked the white cap out of the grass and rolled it up to tuck into a pocket of her apron. She carefully adjusted Pansy's skirts and found the discarded fichu. With a solemn expression that didn't hide the sparkle of her eyes, she replaced it in Pansy's bodice. She helped Pansy to her feet and folded her hands again. "Will there be anything else, my lady?"

Pansy tried to steady her breathing and shook her head. She could feel heat flushing her face and knew she was bright red. She needed a few moments alone before going into the house to find one of the footmen. The remainder of the hedge trimming would need to be done and she couldn't stay there without being distracted by memories of what had just happened. "No," she said in a throaty, hoarse voice. "You may go for now. I need to-to. Er. I need.... Perhaps later."

Hermione turned away, then hesitated and looked over her shoulder. "If my lady _needs_ again this evening, may I make a suggestion? Do avoid the asparagus tips Cook is preparing for dinner. Have juice instead." She licked her lips and smiled. "Loads of juice."

Hermione dropped a curtsy and walked out of the hedges. Pansy stifled a moan and dropped onto the bench, her hand between her thighs and pressed to her body. The look in Hermione's eyes had been the most arousing thing she'd seen in years. She shivered with anticipation. Yes. Juice. Loads of juice.


End file.
